


There go the aristocracy again

by Anothertroy



Category: Inspector George Gently
Genre: Class Issues, Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Rape Fantasy, lmao that's one way of putting that I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anothertroy/pseuds/Anothertroy
Summary: James was dead now - and dead in the most dramatic, archaic, self-idolising way, too, of course.but before that, and despite everything he had said to the man from the police, maybe Anthony had liked him. or maybe he had just hated himself so much and that's why it had happened; he'd never be sure, on the other side of all this loss.
Relationships: James Blackstone/Anthony Baugh
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	There go the aristocracy again

**Author's Note:**

> 'give the people what they want' they said and I will whisper 'no' and also 'I'm going to write miserable porn about two minor characters from an episode of George Gently that aired in 2012 instead'
> 
> and so that is what I did. you're welcome, internet. nobody wanted this and I didn't want this either and yet apparently this is the only thing I could manage the motivation for at all \o/

James was dead now - and dead in the most dramatic, archaic, self-idolising way, too, of course. symbolically slitting one's own throat; a lurid business. _they'll make him a saint_ , Anthony thought, and poured the last of the bottle of cheap and nasty discount whisky down his own throat, and thought about James. who was always drunk, or nearly always.

somewhere a fox barked; it sounded exactly like the Countess in the throes of deep emotion. he wished he didn't know. he wished he'd never known any of them.

*

 _scrambling_ was an ugly word for grown men, excusable for boys, but the only one to describe the way they ended up in bed this time - hands everywhere, James's breath searing and directionless with brandy and beer, his own head spinning, clothes thrown off and kept on at random. his lip felt swollen and sore and he might have bitten it, or James might have, or he might have found himself face first against a wall and forgotten already, a haze of drink and bitterness, jealousy, despair and desperation. Ellen had sung like a banshee that night and laughed in his face when he asked her what had gotten into her, and he knew, already knew that she must have met someone.

someone somewhere else, away from this hellbegotten tangle of thorns, money and mud. and she'd be off to see him, like as not, and so Anthony had returned to his second home in Sleeping Beauty's castle to find James slack and half-awake in the open French windows, Leyendecker handsome in spite of himself. he'd laughed, when he saw Anthony and the look on his face, and that should have been enough to get him a solid punch in the mouth, but instead; this. always, somehow, this.

they were already halfway through, hands around each other moving with what felt like grim determination, when James suddenly threw out, "I know you're fucking her," into the room like a lead weight or a grenade, his voice unsteady with drink. too wasted himself to go cold all over like he should have, Anthony snorted a laugh instead, squeezed James's thick cock by way of illustrating, "You're bringing this up now?"

the way James said, "Yes," gave him a moment's pause. strained, warped, like wood about to give way. he was still close enough to kiss, so Anthony kissed him, tongue slick against his mouth. "Well, I am," he answered, reckless, all his disgust at the whole situation turning his voice brittle and sharp, "You can't be jealous, surely? Not you. Can't have always wanted to -"  
"No." James cut him off, but he kissed him hard, something angry in it and something else, too.   
"No," Anthony echoed thoughtfully, up against the furious line of James's old and perfect jaw, "Then what?"  
"Does she - does she pretend you're me?"

it should have startled him even a little, but he was beyond that, probably, his hips moving up into James's heavy unrelenting touch. "Sometimes," he answered truthfully, scattered images of James's mother flitting across the black of his mind's eye, her hair all over the place, makeup wrecked on half her face, a horror show. "Why? Do you like that?"  
he felt James twitch in his hand and it seemed like confirmation, but he didn't respond, just went glazed for a minute, like he was picturing it, too. "Why do you let her do it?" James asked eventually, and the faintest suspicion of pity in it made Anthony want to throw up in his face. "Let her?" he said incredulously, viperish, "Nobody ever _let_ your mother do anything. She does what she wants, she takes what she wants."  
"She's forcing herself on you." James sounded blurrily thoughtful. the words settled on him like a film of grease. "Yeah," he ground out; neither of them had stopped trying to get the other off, a solid ache in his arm and doubtless a matching one in James's; he wondered where the hell this was going, really. "Don't worry," he added, throwing a lit match into whatever gas was filling the room, "I like that."

"You like -"  
"You could, too." it was dark, but he could still picture the stricken look on James's stupid face, and sure enough, James started to say _I'd never_ and he had to head that off, couldn't stand the pity, he couldn't stand it, the kindness, so he forged ahead, "You feel how hard I am? You know I'd love it. Just force your fucking cock inside me."  
instead of _no_ or _yes_ or _stop_ or any of the responses he'd have expected from James, who he'd known all his life and who had almost never managed to surprise him at all before tonight, when the other man spoke it was with a sick note in his voice, something awful, real, "It's not me, is it? It's us. My family. There's nothing you wouldn't do. If -" he choked on it for a second, audibly, like he was physically swallowing down bile. "If my father had it in him, you'd have gone to bed with him already, wouldn't you?"

he meant it, and the dreadfulness of the hurt on him, what sounded like a childish shattering of illusions, should have been enough to stop Anthony - that or the shame, his body absolutely awash with it, but he was on fire, now. an effigy. he'd spoken often enough with Ellen of burning the whole place down; might as well start. "Maybe." it was true, and it left his breath ragged in his chest, but James hadn't stopped, either - he was rutting against him now, and kissed his bruised lips and then James said, "That's what you want? You just want to get fucked by the aristocracy? Just force ourselves up inside you, stretch your arse on my cock and shove our money in your mouth?"

Anthony felt his eyes roll back in his head, which he was distantly aware he'd previously always thought was just an expression. "God, yes," he hissed, "James -" and James made a vicious sound like a punch to the stomach and said, "I think you mean Your Lordship, don't you?"  
"Fuck, please, please -" hearing himself beg was nauseating too, the heavy shadow of how much he was going to hate himself for all this looming on the horizon like stormclouds, but he couldn't stop, either. James was so _angry_. he'd never seen him angry; for the first time he could see the faint outline of what it was his mother saw in him, all that gold and godhood. mesmerising. "Yes. Your Lordship, you _bastard_ , that's what I want."  
"Just spread your legs for us. My family's whore."  
it very nearly made him come, his whole body seizing under James's, his mouth open and a horrible sound coming from it, a yearning, animal noise he'd never be able to forget making. "Just take it, just take it," he couldn't stop, every violent thrust of James's hips against his was like being hit when you know you've asked for it, the kind of perfect satisfaction you spend the rest of your life chasing like a high.  
"You want me to," James still sounded half-incredulous in the darkness of it all, but now the disbelief was tinged with something like revulsion, and a sort of awe that Anthony could have been this fucked up all along. Anthony wanted to devour the sound of it. "You want me to rape you. To have my way with you like my mother does."  
"Yes." it burned him on the way out, left his mouth numb. maybe he couldn't believe it himself.  
"Well, say it."  
"I want you to rape me." _like you raped the country_ , he thought hysterically, but it wasn't even funny because horribly, part of him meant it; the way he'd felt the first time he really registered the meaning of the words _the Earl of Guyzance_ , the awful, crawling, aching thing inside him that wanted to roll over and grovel in the dirt in front of their hideous house.

James was kissing him again, muttering, "Come on, show me, then, show me, prove it, you want so badly to belong to us then give me your _fucking_ loyalty," a disgusted litany against his stinging mouth, his hand merciless between Anthony's thighs. he thought of Ellen's face, if she could see him now; there'd be none of that disgust on her, only sympathy, something fierce and sorry for the both of them. she was too good for him. she was too good for him. he came clutching at James's shoulder and saying his name, helplessly, over and over again and it sounded like _stop_ _, stop, stop_ and James was holding him, was - murmuring something into his hair; it took a minute for him to make it out. _I wish I'd known_ , James was saying, _that this was what you wanted. you know I'd give you anything._

he wanted to tell him that that wasn't the point at all, but he was already sliding towards sleep, the room turning sideways and then spiralling far into the distance.


End file.
